


Step Two: Make Time For Those You Love

by ShahHira



Series: The Three-Step Process To Achieving Peace [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Asexual Jesse McCree, Barber AU: Part 2, Brief Anxiety Attacks, Comfort, Depression, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Phone Anxiety, Pineapple Pizza-Loving Jesse McCree, Self-Doubt, Social Anxiety, Therapy, Trans Jesse McCree, Undercut Hanzo, finally getting to work through hanzo's anxieties, getting better, the most controversial of tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-04-27 02:29:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14415684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShahHira/pseuds/ShahHira
Summary: Hanzo has achieved the impossible: getting his haircut. It was difficult - but now he has so many people to support him in his future endeavors.





	1. Sometimes You Need To Be Sad

**Author's Note:**

> It's finally here!
> 
> Heads up: Please read the first part of this AU! This may be entertaining, but it will not make sense.
> 
> I have a lot of plans for this AU, most of which I've outlined. I got so much positive and encouraging feedback from the first part to this series, and quite honestly, a majority of what was mainly keeping me going throughout writing this particularly loooong chapter. I still haven't cut my hair, but I'm graduating from college soon and then going back home, so gimme a few weeks and it might happen next update!
> 
> I just realized this is my first time officially writing mchan in an established relationship and it was... interesting to see how I wrote it because all my other fics are slow-burny, pining fics.
> 
> And as usual: excuse me for the unpolished ending because as usual, I wrote it in like, a day :/
> 
> Skippy as my sensitivity reader! Check them out on ao3!!!

“Been sitting on your butt all day. Take a break, yeah? _Rel_ _ájate_ sometime, it’s not going to kill you.”

Managing to make a flashy appearance even as she crossed the empty barbershop with near-silent footsteps, Sombra pushed her sunglasses up into her messy bun, tilting a neat smirk in Hanzo’s direction as she breezed past him into the backroom.

A blast of September heat drifted lazily towards the pair, an undercurrent of a smooth chill marking the rapidly approaching evening. An eclectic mix of perfume and cologne followed the current, nipping sharply at Hanzo’s nostrils. Swiveling his chair around to face Sombra he straightened up, ready to throw down with an answering jab as was their customary ritual; if he had glasses, he’d be pushing them up right now in snobbish retaliation. “Completely overhauling this barbershop’s database isn’t something that can take anything less than sitting on my butt all day, Sombra. How did you three function in such a state of disrepair?”

Turning back to the clunky desktop whirring madly on top of the rickety wooden desk he clicked through some files, rolling his aching shoulders. “One hardly needs a Master’s in Business Administration for bookkeeping, yet it is difficult even for me to wade through this disorganized mess.”

A hand smacked his off the mouse. “Hey! Don’t talk about C4rmensita like that! She’s doing her best,” Sombra glowered. “Besides, it used to only be me who did all the bookkeeping around here – suited me just fine. Try not to mess it up too much, ‘kay?”

With that final warning she disappeared into the back, the lights turning off one by one in her wake. Hanzo was left scowling in the dark, squinting into the stark brightness of the computer screen. As he idly wondered how in the world she manages to do that, he glanced at the time: almost six PM.

Shit, closing time snuck up on him quick. With a final sigh he shut down the computer. Might as well get a headstart on clean-up.

“Hey there.”

Stepping into the dimly-lit main area, however, brought Hanzo a more than pleasing welcome in the form of Jesse: fading light streamed in from the pulled-back curtains, painting him in a sun-soaked silhouette, the tall broom in his grip being used as a crutch.

“Haven’t seen much of you today,” said Jesse.

Crossing his arms Hanzo walked up, the faint smile on his lips growing larger with each step. “If I recall correctly, you were all but ready to assist me.”

“Yeah, until I saw nothing but numbers and spreadsheets on yer screen.” He snorted, dropping his chin to rest on top of the handle of the broom. “What’s Sombra puttin’ you up to these days?”

“Nothing that I haven’t volunteered of my own volition.”

“Looks like torture to me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Running a business is a taxing commitment.”

“Still,” Jesse stretched a little, wincing, “I know Sombra’s going off to do bigger and better things and she needs a break from the more menial administrative stuff we basically dumped on her, but you can give me a holler if it’s too much work for you. I’ll let her know.”

“Jesse.” Hanzo stepped closer. “This business may have the most convoluted file management I’ve ever seen, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Do not be so concerned with how I am spending my time here.”

There was no need to say this: especially since Jesse was already nodding his head in clear agreement, realizing his blunder. “Right. Sorry ‘bout that. I just…”

He trailed off, lidding his eyes for a brief moment. Suddenly Hanzo could see the strain and exhaustion plainly carved into the lines of his face, leaving stress lines scored across his forehead and down his mouth.

Moved more by instinct Hanzo cupped his cheek. “It is I who should apologize. I could’ve worded that better,” he said after a quiet moment, rubbing a thumb back and forth. “But I do appreciate your concern. I will keep your offer in mind.”

They spent a minute more standing there, surrounded by a mess of locks of hair covering the floor, basking in each other’s presence after a long and stressful day; there’s no one to interrupt them now.

“Mm. ‘Fore I forget.”

A short rustling later, a small envelope entered Hanzo’s view. He took it automatically.

“Don’t tell me this is for…” he began.

“Yup.” Jesse popped the ‘p’. “For all the work you’ve done for us so far. Reyes didn’t get your bank account details set up yet so it’s hard cash for now– Uhp-up!”

Jesse dramatically backpedaled away from the envelope being shoved back into his shirt by an irate Hanzo. “I cannot take this!”

Try as he might, the sight of Hanzo fuming was enough of a hilarious sight that Jesse couldn’t stop the amusement from being apparent upon his features.

“I am not here as an employee on any official capacity,” Hanzo shook his head, astonished. “I simply wanted to offer my services since I am here so often. I was not expecting any compensation.”

“Hey, well,” Jesse raised his hands in a placating gesture, “I’m just the messenger boy. It was Reyes who insisted. Take it up with him if you’re hell-bent on this.”

“Hm. I just might,” he grumbled, but he couldn’t deny the flare of glee that stirred his gut so gratifyingly, and at the trust being placed in his admittedly rusty accounting skills. “But not anytime soon. Was it just me or was Mr. Reyes in a particularly bad mood today?”

At the mention of Reyes, though, the fatigue came rolling back, drooping Jesse’s shoulders. “Yeah. He and Morrison had one of their nastier spats today. In front of the customers, too.”

Hanzo gave a sympathetic if neutral hum. He couldn’t quite visualize Mr. Reyes as someone who would ever drop his near-impassive expression; he had only ever seen the man smile once, a broad one at that, too, towards Morrison alone.

A complicated relationship Jesse’s family had, but Hanzo was left to ponder over that for another time as Jesse moaned, “I really do _not_ want to go home. Hate the commute back, and Sombra probably already took the car…” He scrubbed a hand over his face, grimacing. “Pops and Dad are gonna hurl their dumb questions at me again. Sick of hearing the same old stuff over an’ over…”

“Come over to my place.”

The speed with which the barber’s stare locked on to Hanzo’s revealed the boldness of his offer, but he refused to let himself back out. He cleared his throat self-consciously. “My apartment is a fifteen minute walk from here. I don’t have a car, but there is a bus stop nearby that takes you into the surrounding suburbs. I believe we can make that work.”

The barber blinked once. Then twice. Then a smile cracked through. “If you’re offering,” he said, tentative and hopeful.

With only the floors to sweep and vanities to tidy up the two men split their duties, an enthusiasm bolstering their progress. In no time they closed up shop, locked the door, and were ambling down the street.

Jesse’s flannel was unbuttoned, fluttering sluggishly in the warm gusts of air that blew around them. Without thinking Hanzo made to tuck stray hairs behind his ear – and was briefly taken aback when his fingers did not encounter the long strands he had thought would be ghosting across his face.

He settled for lightly running his fingernails up the scruff coating his scalp, almost startling himself when the delightful tingling spread all the way down to his toes. Right. That was something he’d have to get used to.

Another hand, not his, ran its knuckles up the other side, brushing near his temple. Hanzo didn’t have to turn to see the adoration that was evident in his actions.

It’s been a few months since they’ve started dating in earnest. The rest of the summer had passed by in a series of lovely dates out at the local café, a blur of wonderful company and delicious food. Looking back, it was a bit jarring to talk so casually about trivial things like their respective annoying siblings when each of them had already spilled their guts on more intimate topics than when they used to be near-complete strangers.

But perhaps that was how they had moved past the initial awkwardness, and settled into a rhythm that’s granted them a certain amount of contentment. They’re taking it slow, but it’s comforting – like a routine, but nothing so ordinary, neither of them pushing anything that’s not the steady pace their relationship has remained.

Until today. Leading Jesse up the stairs – “the elevator’s out from the sixth floor upwards,” he explained in contrite confession – Hanzo became acutely aware of the new step he’s taken; living spaces are generally nothing to write home about, but there is a nervous vulnerability in opening your home to your boyfriend.

He opened the door to his apartment. _Boyfriend_. The word echoed in his mind.

“It’s not much, but I can give you the tour…” he started.

Only for a lengthy moan to cut him off. “Them long couches lookin’ like a treat, _damn_.”

Jesse was eyeing his… well, it was basically an extended couch with an attached ottoman set that he had picked up on a half-off sale during a very short-lived impulse shopping spree at IKEA – a total of one purchase, plus an additional free guilty conscious.

However, today made it all worth it when Jesse let out a chest-busting whoop, promptly falling face-first into the well-worn squishy cushions. His body sagged willingly into its spongy softness.

Hanzo padded over and sat himself on the sofa’s edge, the curve of his grin tinged with concern. “You okay, Jesse?”

A response came in the form of a muffled grunt. Obviously, Jesse had had a hard day. That much was evident in their conversation from before – and that’s not even mentioning the on-going drama with Blackwatch Barbers and Overwatch Spas. Aimlessly, Hanzo stroked up and down the stretch of Jesse’s back in a meditative gesture, lightly combing a few fingers through his thick tresses of hair. With Sombra rightfully preoccupied with her own independent projects, it was up to Jesse to weather the storm between Reyes and Morrison.

All on top of being the main barber and the face of Blackwatch, his stresses must be piled high. No wonder he had looked so drawn as of late.

A stab of guilt drew Hanzo deeper into empathy. While Jesse had been under so much pressure, Hanzo could scarcely believe that his luck had turned in his favor; things had finally, _finally_ been looking up, his long-fought struggles coming to fruition. But was a normal life too much to ask for? Especially if it came at the expense of Jesse’s own well-being?

Lost in thought, Hanzo almost jumped when a thick arm snaked around his waist, wrapping halfway around to clasp him at the back like a bear trap.

“Lassoin’ you down here,” he heard Jesse mumble, who snuggled into his right hip with a happy sigh.

“Are you sure you are comfortable sleeping in this?” Hanzo plucked at his jeans, valiantly trying to keep his voice from wavering at the sweet warmth climbing up his spine. “I might have something that can fit you...”

Jesse cracked open a disapproving eye.

“Right.” Hanzo couldn’t help but grin. “That can wait for later.”

The urge to put on a pot of tea for his guest tugged at Hanzo’s instincts of common courtesy. But Jesse had made his intentions clear, and there was no way he’d be letting go of him anytime soon. Besides, who was he to argue when his handsome, overworked boyfriend was occupying half his lap?

So Hanzo continued his ministrations, single-minded in his work – nestled into the crook of his arm Jesse hummed soft little sighs as Hanzo ran warm hands over stiffened muscles. He was no practiced masseuse but he nevertheless took great pleasure in smoothing out snarled knots, imagining them as being the stresses of Jesse’s job as they dissipated into oblivion. In turn, Jesse attempted to burrow even further: limbs loose and limber in boneless pleasure, slowly inching upwards until his face was buried in Hanzo’s neck, slouched gracelessly in his embrace. A chin was hooked over his broad shoulders; peppered kisses showed his gratitude.

Hanzo grinned giddily at the drowsy smile being imprinted upon his skin, closing his eyes to soak up the shape of his kisses. Sitting on this sofa for the rest of the night had never sounded so appealing.

“Urgh… think yer right. These jeans ‘r chokin’ the life outta me.”

Jesse chose an amazing time to be prudent – of course, just when Hanzo was starting to doze off.

No matter how hard he tried to ignore it, the creeping awareness of chafing belt-wound jeans snuck up on Jesse and he sat up sluggishly. The pair fought through their reluctance, the buzz of bliss fizzing out from under their skin but not totally gone, opting to loosely cling onto each other for support. As one, the two men led themselves around the apartment in a cursory tour, teetering like a performer’s first time on stilts, or penguins waddling on ice; the barber had left the task of walking up to Hanzo and his much stronger upper body, who proudly carted him around like a giant stuffed toy.

They paused for twenty minutes as Jesse fawned over Hanzo’s video game collection: tucked away in a secretive cabinet but not so hidden as to escape his sights, to Hanzo’s quiet delight. They then detoured to the balcony – which overlooked an unimpressively drab neighborhood, but was made all the more worthwhile with Jesse’s solid presence. They watched the sun set, swaying together in the warm breeze.

Choosing from his selection of sleepwear, too, felt like dressing up a doll: who was sleepy and indolent in his arms up until Hanzo held aloft a ridiculously oversized pair of deep purple basketball shorts with intricate dragons painstakingly carved out in the plastic that sealed up the ends of the drawstrings. “Thrift stores carry my aesthetic” was his only explanation.

“What’s cookin’, good lookin’?”

Not even five minutes after he had left Jesse alone to change in lieu of giving in to his need to put on some tea did the barber pad noiselessly into the cramped kitchen, peering over his shoulder at the tiny ceramic cups laid out on the table. Hanzo grinned at the body leaning into his back, breaths sliding down his neck; Jesse couldn’t stand being apart from him for long, it seemed.

“Are the shorts to your liking?” he asked instead, playfully smacking a stray hand away from the top cabinet that conveniently held his secret stash of chocolate. That was fine; since Hanzo was very much absorbed in his puppy love, too.

“You made me feel like a new man, free from the cruelty of pants.” The hand settled for snatching up a steaming cup of tea. “I’ve half a mind to say it’s better than taking off a bra at the end of a day. Been a while since I’ve had to do that. And I’m kinda partial to my binder but,” he took a sip of his tea, “I say free the titty.”

“Hear, hear,” echoed Hanzo, taking a matching sip. “It’s getting late. What would you like…” he began, only to be interrupted by a growling stomach that was most definitely not his.

Hanzo’s eyes danced with amusement as he tilted his gaze up at Jesse, who was trying his very best to hide behind his tiny cup.

“Fuckin’ traitor,” the barber grumbled under his breath. Then in a normal voice, “I was daydreamin’ about Torby’s pizza all day.”

Jesse’s eyes darkened briefly. There it was again. Whatever had happened today must’ve troubled him to the bone. Hanzo frowned, displeased at himself. He wasn’t doing nearly enough to distract him from his worries.

Refilling their cups Hanzo led Jesse back to the couch, pulling up Netflix on the giant TV that covered the opposite wall. “If you can’t decide what to pick, there are some Planet Earth documentaries I’ve been meaning to watch. I will go order some food.”

Two throw blankets and a parting kiss was enough to pacify Jesse and his token protests, and he was no wiser to the fact that Hanzo’s laptop was on the coffee table right in front of him. Quickly, before he could lose his nerve, Hanzo grabbed his phone and retreated to his bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar so as to not raise suspicion.

Blood pulsed uneasily at his temples. His fingers twitched against the touchscreen with both nervous impatience and too-frayed dread as he pulled up the website to Torbjorn’s Pizzeria and Blacksmith. More than once Jesse had extolled its praises and had shyly confessed on one of their dates that it was his go-to comfort food, and had valiantly stood by that their pineapple pizza was to die for.

Tapping in the number was a test of his discipline; pressing the call button was always the hardest step for him, and he had to fight the insane urge to hurl his phone across the room.

It was shameful, he knew. Shameful: that he been part of one of the most influential clans in Japan once upon a time, and that one of his many duties included answering phones and making calls – to relatives, to business partners, to foreigners. For leisure and persuasion, to seduce and intimidate. To channel superiority with purely his voice, oozing with innate authority. To change lives with just one word and the power that thrummed dangerously underneath them.

Hanzo stared at the white knuckles clutching his phone, voices of the past speaking over one another: a barked command, a choked-off yell, a traitorous promise. An important and vital job, no how beneath him it had seemed back then.

He squeezed hard, gritting his teeth at the truth. And now? Now look at him; he couldn’t even call delivery for himself.

But…

But it wasn’t for himself. It was for Jesse.

Hanzo took a deep, steadying breath.

It was for Jesse: who had suffered through today, who deserved a treat, who Hanzo cared for to a fierce degree. An emotion – a strong, intense emotion that he couldn’t identify threw itself against his fear.

His thumb hovered over the call button. The emotion pushed again, and Jesse crowded out all of his other thoughts.

“Torbjorn’s Blacksmith and Pizzeria. Press one for the smithy, two for pizza.”

A disgruntled voice picked up almost immediately. Hanzo had to take a moment to gulp down the lump plugging his throat before he realized it was an automated recording.

One breath. Then another. Air went raggedly down his throat. Good. He could take as much time as he needed. Blurred vision began to clear. He pressed two.

The call went smoothly after that, thankfully, if a bit stilted. The woman on the other side exuded more than enough energy for the both of them, prompting him with easy-to-answer questions – and just when his anxiety was starting to rip him apart for not saying the right things, something heavy-sounding clanged thunderously in the background that conveniently left her in a flurry of apologies and off the line without warning for a solid minute.

When she came back, breathless, Hanzo had spied his credit card on his nightstand. He snatched it up, an idea in the middle of forming as his mouth moved ahead of itself, “I need this as soon as possible. There’s a twenty dollar tip in it if it’s delivered within fifteen minutes.”

Without missing a beat, the woman interjected, “Thirty dollars, and we’ll make your order first priority!”

Well – it’s not as if money were an issue for him. “Deal.”

When all was said and done his feet took him back to the couch, collapsing on top of Jesse. Who gladly took him in his blanket-burrito fortress, giving his relieved smile a small peck of acknowledgement.

Jesse nudged him. “What’s got you in such a good mood?”

He propped his chin on Jesse’s chest. “Real answer? Food. Cheesy answer? You.” He returned the kiss. “You here with me. All to myself.”

Was that all it took to leave the barber breathless? Apparently so – or it might’ve been the hungry press of lips ensuing shortly after that did it, because the way Jesse’s body arched along the edges of his curves made it clear that it was more than just his words that did him in.

Of course, it felt like they had just begun when the doorbell rang. Comically loud wheezes could be heard through the flimsy door.

“Delivery… is here… in four… fourteen minutes and twenty-three seconds!”

The woman’s freckled face was flushed bright red as she just managed to stop herself from pitching forward in her hunched-over position, the unseen clinks of metal on metal and heavy-duty utility pants lending a sturdy weight to her stature. Strange apparel for a deliveryperson, Hanzo mused, just as she woozily straightened up.

“I know it wasn’t by much, but I think I deserve…” she leaned a muscled forearm on the doorway, panting, “an extra five dollars for the… for the elevator being broken. _Fa-an_ , those stairs…”

To say that Hanzo was impressed was an understatement, so he gave in to her request; the uneven streaks of gray grime dusting her cheekbones did nothing to dim the brightness of her beaming smile.

Sounds of intrigued rustling came from the sofa. “Am I goin’ crazy or was that Brigitte’s voice I just heard…?”

All of which abruptly stopped when Hanzo laid the pizza box on the table without a word. Jesse’s eyes grew wide with shock.

“Is that…” The shock turned into awe as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. “That’s Torby’s pizza, how did you…”

Hanzo knew what he was going to say: that Torbjorn’s pizza didn’t have the option to order online, that Hanzo had told him early on in their relationship how much anxiety phone calls left him sapped of energy, breathless in the worst way possible.

Jesse opened the box, gaping at it in all of its pineapple glory. “You… got this… for me?” As if in disbelief he scarfed down his first slice, rolling his eyes up in pleasure.

In less than a minute Jesse had finished his first slice, already reaching out to grab a second one. Then paused, seemed to remember that Hanzo was still seated next to him, nervously shifting in place.

Foolishly, stupidly, dumbly, all Hanzo could manage to squeak out was, “You have impressive eating skills.”

Quickly – too quick for Hanzo to comprehend he was knocked over to his side, collapsing into the sofa cushions’ embrace. He sunk under the large warm weight, momentarily dazed – and then stumbled over short spurts of laughter when he was showered in butterfly-soft kisses, heart jumping at the nuzzling face at his neck to hide the low, drawn-out wordless exclamation that seemed to deflate Jesse’s whole body.

“Hanzo, I… you did this for me?” His face remained concealed in the dip of his collarbone, only a sliver of hooded eyes hinting at the reverence shining within. “That is so… I didn’t think you’d remember. Shucks, you didn’t have to–”

“But I wanted to,” Hanzo rebutted firmly. He gently carded through Jesse’s hair. “You have been so stressed and overworked as of late. This is no remedy, I know. But I hope it has helped you in some way.”

It was a statement simple in its delivery, and it conveyed what Hanzo felt. But it was still not enough; for the way he recognized Jesse’s dedication and sincerity in every action went beyond mere admiration.

Suddenly hands twisted in his shirt, cloth stretching snug over his torso. Jesse, who had previously been dormant for the most part, seemed to burrow even further into Hanzo’s chest. One deep breath, hoarse, almost raspy, wracked down his body. Another followed, muffled, nosing down in a clear attempt at hiding his face. But Hanzo could feel him struggling – and failing – to suppress the smile that burst across, a most satisfying burn of lips marking the skin under his shirt.

Sitting upright didn’t seem to be that important to Jesse, who was more than content to twist around and toss the pizza box on top them both, luxuriating in their laziness. “This is a thing that’s happening, I guess” said Hanzo who did nothing to discourage their slothful behavior, something incomprehensibly sweet tightening his heart in a way that had everything to do with the body sprawled on top of him.

Planet Earth documentaries were on auto-play in the background, the low sounds of wildlife a welcome shield: for the two men were in their own little world, nothing but a sofa, pizza, and each other to keep them company.

“Is that your phone?”

Now that they were settled, Hanzo had been hearing something buzzing under the mess of blankets. Jesse automatically replied, “Or are you just happy to see me?” complete with a ridiculous smirk.

“No, I really think that is your phone.” Trying his hardest not to crack up, Hanzo shoved a hand deep within the blankets. “See?”

One glance at the missed call on the screen was all it took to wipe the playfulness from Jesse’s face. “Ah, shit.” He dialed in the number, frantically putting it up to his ear. “What time is it?”

“Nine PM,” responded Hanzo, confused.

Jesse winced. “Shit, I completely forgot. Fuck.” He swore under his breath, looking like he was about to say more. Until: “Hey, Pops!”

Oh.

The pained smile and forced cheer did hardly anything in terms of damage control. The deep voice on the other end was not emphatically loud, per se, but it was carefully enunciated, and stern; Mr. Reyes, no doubt.

“I’m at Hanzo’s place… Yeah, I closed up shop… Uh-huh… Sombra went to this fancy cocktail party or something, I dunno where.” A series of short replies broke the unusually tense air. Jesse’s whole demeanor seemed to change: he almost sounded annoyed, faint wrinkles folding his brow with each answer, fingers tapping away a hollow pulse on the sofa rest.

Worry gnawed at Hanzo. To some extent he felt responsible for Jesse’s wellbeing – but in his effort to not cause him any more heartache he’s managed to achieve the exact opposite. Guilt poured through him as he watched the frown grow deeper on Jesse’s face, all his efforts of the evening going to waste. No, he had to make this right.

“No, you don’t have to pick me up,” Jesse continued his grumbling. “I can take the bus, Jack don’t have to… Naw, let him be a tired old man in peace… Hell no, don’t send Sombra either. She’s gonna charge me for stupid taxi money or somethin’ when she knows I already gave her a bunch of money for her non-existent consultant company she’s tryin’ ta cobble together–”

“Stay for the night.”

This impulsive decision wasn’t as hard to make, Hanzo mused as he murmured his suggestion, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. Jesse for his part, however, held in a last-minute squeak, turning to gawk him a muted look: startled and ruffled, like a spooked cat. Hanzo simply raised an eyebrow.

“U…uh yeah, Pops, I-I’ll tell you about that later,” Jesse stammered out as chatter picked up on the other end. “Hey listen, how ‘bout I stay over at Hanzo’s for the night? It’s closer to the barbershop anyway…”

A peculiar glow warmed Hanzo, and he attempted to hide the smile stretching his cheeks as Jesse reassured Reyes and said his goodbyes. He hung up with a heaving sigh. “Thanks for lettin’ me stay.”

In hindsight it might have been a stupid question to ask, but Hanzo resolved to poke at the hornet’s nest. “Your parents sounded very concerned. Did they need you home?”

Jesse shifted in place. “Naw, they’re overprotective is all. It’s just strange that I’m not home for once. Rare not to have the whole family together.”

“You live with your parents?” asked Hanzo. “With Mr. Reyes and Sombra?”

Even before he finished Jesse flicked a sharp gaze up. “And Jack. We run a family business. So yeah, I do live with my parents.”

There was something guarded in his tone, gruff and harsh: as if he were daring him to object his lifestyle. Hanzo tensed, clutching his fists in realization. “Forgive me. I did not mean to phrase it that way. I personally do not have a problem with that. I just would like to know more about them.”

This seemed to relax Jesse some. He nodded. “We all work at the same place. Makes sense to live at the same place, too. You wouldn’t believe how much it cuts down on costs.”

“Well, ‘cept for Jack’s case,” he reconsidered, frowning. “He has to drive near forty-five minutes to reach the other side of town where Overwatch is. He and Reyes are too joined at the hip for him to move out, though.”

The more he talked, the less it set Jesse at ease. The carefree, dreamlike few hours that had so blissfully enveloped the two men inside the apartment seemed to stagnate in just a few short minutes. Hanzo slipped an arm around his shoulders, bringing him in close.

It does the trick. Jesse slumped into his embrace, releasing his biggest sigh yet, closing his eyes. “Can’t believe I’m saying this but I need a break, Han. The stuff that’s been happenin’ lately… it’s gettin’ to me. I mean, there’s plenty valid reasons why you don’t run a family business in the first place. Hard to separate work and home when yer spouse keeps harpin’ about partnerships and contracts and logistics at the dinner table an’ is trying to get you on his side. It’d be easier if Jack were unreasonable; least then we’d be able to kick his ass…”

Although he might not understand all of Jesse’s ramblings, Hanzo could take solace in the fact that Jesse was finally pouring out his frustrations: his long pent-up grievances that had been bearing down on him, crumpling him. Stopping just short of asking for clarification he instead focused on keeping the soothing rhythm of his hand stroking up and down his back.

“I don’t wanna go home.”

A hand curled over his. The crushing painful squeeze of his grip was fleeting in the face of Jesse’s voice: small, weary. Vulnerable, like he was just holding himself together.

It scared Hanzo. It scared him, and he didn’t know what to do. It had been so long since he’d been in this situation he had practically forgotten: how to listen, how to care – aside from offering platitudes, which would doubtlessly sound hollow to both their ears. Self-doubt consumed him. He felt like he wasn’t doing anything right.

But then: once again that incomprehensible feeling resurged with a vengeance. It wound around his chest, twanged at his stomach, pleading for him to do something, anything, _anything_ to help Jesse. It sent faint tremors up his bones as he cupped Jesse’s face, fingers softening the edges of creased wrinkles one by one.

He moved in closer – enough to sense the hitch in Jesse’s breath puffed into his neck, enough to feel the trust he conveyed through clenched hands and tightly-coiled body, silently asking for support. He did everything in his power to make his body language feel as welcoming as possible: lips roaming gently against heated skin, giving Jesse a safe haven for him to latch on to, every kiss a refuge – allowing him to hide from the world for just a little while.

“I will do my absolute best to help you, Jesse. All you need is to ask for it. There is no shame in that, believe me.”

It had taken a long time for Hanzo to master that simple concept alone; he remembered working through a previous therapist’s exercises, day in and day out, ingrained behaviors and internalized attitudes taking months to unlearn.

Finally, Jesse stirred. “Hanzo…”

His face was puffy and red, but not from crying: like he had been holding something back and it had taken all his self-control.

“Hanzo,” he breathed his name, a sacred prayer. “Han, you’ve done so much. You’ve done so much to help me today, I…” A disbelieving snicker sneaks out, high-pitched and odd. “I… Thank you.”

The last syllable cracked briefly before he went back down to a whisper. His body gave out, cheek pressed gratefully into Hanzo’s shoulder. “Right back at ya, partner. Deal?”

Even now Hanzo still catches himself, on his bad days. But somehow he knew: that while Jesse may falter – he would never fail.

Not if Hanzo could help it. “Deal.”

______

Sombra looked up, surprised. “Hey, sunshine. You’re up early.”

Hopping down from the truck bed, she whipped a glance through the windows of the barbershop: an ancient wall clock read two minutes after six AM.

Jesse shoved his hands into his pockets, futilely trying to ward off the chill of the late dawn. He grunted, not bothering dignify her obvious statement with an answer.

Sombra raised an eyebrow. Or an explanation. “Did Dad tell you to help me stock the shop?”

Another neutral grunt. “Pops told me about it. Thought I’d lend a hand.”

Sombra watched in silent amusement as her night owl brother stranded in a family of early morning risers slogged through the motions of unloading the truck’s cargo, brooding in his unfortunate misery.

“Just thought it would have slipped your mind,” she kept up the conversation, trying to glean more information.

Jesse, however, did not take the bait. “Gonna stock up the front.”

Not that he realized it was bait in the first place. Without a second thought he disappeared to the front, plucking up a few items and a duster last-minute. Too curious to mind her own business, Sombra followed Jesse into the main area a few paces behind. Even through the disgruntled haze he exuded there was something strangely absent-minded about her normally perceptive brother, like his mind was far away – even if he did look one step away from falling asleep upright.

“Well, how-dy. What’s a handsome fella like you doin’ here?”

Sombra peeked around the corner. Oh. That’s why.

Hanzo didn’t usually show up during the morning shift – he and Jesse were alike in that regard. But before her very eyes Sombra saw the man himself booting up the reception desk computer, giving the barber a faint smirk of amusement in response. He looked about as tired as Jesse felt.

Hanzo briefly put his work on hold as Jesse shuffled to make himself home inside his loose embrace, who responded in kind with smoothing down his hair, tender and patient. But it was clear which man had dragged the other out of bed.

 _Nice of him,_ she thought as she retreated back to the basement, allowing a rare sense of propriety to urge her in granting the two men the privacy of their quiet moment. It was relieving to see with her own eyes, though: the love that was evident in Hanzo’s actions.

Sombra went back to work. Jesse was in good hands. Because if he weren’t the only other alternative would be that _she_ would have to make sure of it, and she knows no one wants that. Not that there was any chance of deleting the file with Hanzo’s ever-growing list of blackmail information anytime soon; it had only been just a few months since he’d been dating Jesse – it was still too early to tell if or when he might do wrong by her brother…

The sounds of giggling approached from behind her. “Hey, hey Sombra, listen.”

The day when Sombra would unleash the awesome potential of her wrath in defense of her heartbroken brother, however, would not be today…

“I know you’re dying for details.” Two arms droop over her shoulders, their combined dead weight locking her in place.

…considering she is being pestered by him right now.

Her fate was sealed. “I have no choice in this, do I?” she sighed.

“Nope,” Jesse’s mischievous smile was palpable. On the bright side, he was definitely more awake. “So anyway, Hanzo’s apartment has this giant sofa…”

Sometimes, even though their age difference was quite apparent it feels like she’s the older sibling; while they’ve been equally fiercely protective of each other, it was ultimately Sombra’s job to keep a cool head between the various heated disputes her family inevitably ran into, and to find a middle ground that satisfied all of them. And she’s okay with that arrangement.

“…I had some of the most amazing sex of my entire life.”

Now that gave her pause.

Jesse spied her doubt. He barreled on, “I mean, what else are we gonna do all curled up on his majestic sofa and serenadin’ me with Planet Earth documentaries? The mood was perfect, I tell ya.”

Sombra stayed silent. She crossed her arms knowingly.

Jesse puffed out his chest, not realizing how ridiculous he looked. “It was mind-blowing, Sombra, you have to believe me. The pressure was… good. My stomach tightened. I think.” He seemed to ponder for a moment. “My legs turned into jello. That’s what usually happens, right? Anyway, it was the bestest sex ever and we did it again like, ten times–”

It was too much; Sombra couldn’t contain the snorts of laughter that burst through. “Can it, _vaquero_ , we all know you’re ace.”

Jesse had no reason to be chagrined about his lack of interest or intimate familiarity of sex whenever it came up.

She lightly pinched his cheek. But it was cute every time it happened. “I’m gonna open up shop. You got three minutes to get ready.”

An unfamiliar giddiness gave her new energy, footsteps nimble and airy as she flipped the sign to ‘open.’ Out the corner of her eye Hanzo flitted to each of the booths, still very much hard at work at making the barbershop look presentable for the workday. That man had already exceeded her expectations.

Hm. Perhaps that file might get deleted sometime soon, after all.


	2. Holding Back Puts No One At Ease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do the employees of Blackwatch Barbers do in their spare time?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.  
> I finally cut my hair.  
> And it is a beautiful feeling :)  
> That doesn't mean I'm gonna stop updating this fic! Oh no, in fact, I am writing this as a means of procrastination for my other fic that's been on hold for *checks watch* more than 2 years hah uptop
> 
> Catch the TF2 reference ;)

“Hmm…”

Hanzo turned off the tap and looked into the bathroom mirror, squinting. He took off his hairtie, shaking it free - then quickly put it back up when crimped hair wouldn't stay down. He scratched at his beard, lost in thought.

“Han, you got all your stuff packed?” Jesse's voice echoed from down the hall. “We need to get there early for set-up or everyone's gonna be mad at us!”

Hanzo glanced down at the set of electric clippers in his hand, scowl in place. His undercut had gotten overgrown over the past few weeks, to put it mildly, and it was long overdue for a trim. In a strange turn of events, the uneven clumps of hair creeping down the base of his neck felt suffocating in a way his waist-length hair had not. Left any longer and he might start to look like an unkempt hobo. If only he could turn this damn thing on...

A presence sidled up behind him. “Lemme help you with that,” purred Jesse’s amused voice, and Hanzo struggled to hold in a shiver as a warm puff of air stood up the hairs of his neck in a pleasant tingle. A pair of large, well-worked hands covered his own fumbling ones, gliding over the clippers with practiced ease.

“You don’t have to…” Whatever protests Hanzo came up with fizzled off into a happy sigh. The barber shifted forward, and it was too easy for Hanzo to lean back into an embrace that felt like it was made just for him.

Chunks of hair fell into the sink, light as snowflakes. Jesse’s chuckle was muffled underneath a light kiss to his collar. “I reckon my favorite client’s havin’ a good time.”

“Mhm,” Hanzo eloquently responded, head lolled back onto his broad chest.

The arm around his waist disappeared to smooth out the rest, lingering over freshly cut scruffy sides. “Next time don’t hesitate to call me for a trim,” said Jesse. He rested his chin on Hanzo’s shoulder, eyes meeting in the mirror.

“And why’s that,” asked Hanzo, yawning widely. Damn his boyfriend; ten in the morning and he already made him want to crawl back into bed with him in tow.

Said boyfriend only laughed. “‘Well now, my usual customers don’t normally let me do my job while I’m all up in their lap.”

At that Hanzo turned fully around, playfully scrutinizing him. “The responsibility falls onto me.” He crossed his arms in a stern gesture, even as the image that materialized left his stomach fluttering with future possibilities. “Ultimately I should learn how to take care of myself rather than rely on you all the time.” He offered a kind smile. “Even if you are an expert at your craft.”

The way Jesse blushed at the compliment was precious. Lips puckered, he tipped his hat, grand and sweeping. “Guess I'll have to teach you all I know, then.”

Ever since he set foot in America, Hanzo has considered himself to be a low maintenance man, so much so that it would have shamed his past self. Most days, simply existing would be torture enough, let alone going through the trouble of slogging through the motions. And if he ever did muster up the energy to care, it was as if the whole world were staring. Judging, silently mocking his appearance. Either way he’d be an anxious mess by the end of the day.

But today he tried something new: he tossed the clippers back into the drawer, and said two words which he has never allowed himself to become:

“I am good enough.”

______

With a heave, Hanzo stuck the last pole into the ground. Muscles on fire, it was all he could do to walk to the nearest tree and flop under its shade. He snatched up his water bottle, chugging half of it down. Almost two hours of simple set up and he was already drowning in sweat. Damn this heat.

Still, a feeling of accomplishment rushed through him as he surveyed his hard work. Jesse had invited him out to something that he described as a “family tradition.” A group of people that came together once a month to… what was it called again?

“Live-Action Role Playing…” Hanzo snorted, then proceeded to laugh until he started to cough. LARPing. Right. A physically taxing activity that required not only a large group of people to possess a highly active imagination but a willingness to take the time out of busy schedules to coordinate a set piece as intricate as a live play.

Who knew there was a game that put the work ethic of Dungeons and Dragons to shame?

“Jesse! Over here!”

Across the park, waving enthusiastically, stood a large man. A very tall and large man, with large proportions. Hanzo blinked through the sunlight, gawking. “Don't you dare start without me! I am on my way!”

And a booming voice to boot.

“Oh! You are not Jesse.”

The man ran across the park with surprising speed, and Hanzo was even more confused. To say this man towered over him was an understatement; as if Hanzo couldn't see he was obviously well built, the man was covered head to toe in what looked to be a set of knight’s armor. Though rudimentary it was obviously handmade, and made of - cardboard and foam, perhaps PVC pipe?

In any case, he certainly looked the part with a scarred gash going down his left eye, bright grin notwithstanding. Hanzo gulped. Easily six foot tall and a beefcake. If he weren’t with Jesse right now...

“Ah, you must be Jesse’s sweetheart.” It was a good thing they were outdoors because Hanzo did not think this man had any concept of an inside voice. “I have already heard so much about you. Lovely to meet you! I am Reinhardt,” he flexed his gigantic arms, “and today, I will be your shield!”

With a hearty laugh, he ran deeper into the park - closely followed by another person who rushed past Hanzo: “Dammit, Uncle Reinhardt, be careful this time - don’t you dare break your leg again!”

That voice sounded familiar - was that the lady from the pizzeria? Not like Hanzo was left time to peer after the rapidly fading duo, because after that a steady stream of people began filing in the little corner of the park they took up residence.

Later on, Jesse introduced him to the group: Zarya, with short bright pink hair and nails, heaving what looked to be a battering ram on her shoulder with ease; Lena, brandishing a slingshot and her girlfriend Emily in tow; Sombra was off who knew where, but apparently Hanzo wasn’t missing much, according to Jesse: all she did was sneak around and backstab people or steal their wallets, and that’s no fun for anyone; a stout man with a braided beard as long he was smoothing down a picnic blanket, extending a gracious hand out for who presumably was his wife.

So that was Torbjorn, Hanzo mused, tapping away at his chin in thought as the man hurried to chaperone a flock of little children who eagerly ran off for a fun day at the park. He couldn't put his finger on what it quite was; but there was something connecting them all together, despite all their vastly different backgrounds...

“And this fella here, folks,” a hand clapped down on his shoulder, and Hanzo was startled to see that Jesse had gotten everyone's attention, “is our newest member. He’ll be sitting out the first round just to get a feel for the action. So suit up, and let’s put on a show!”

The Game Master role was assigned to someone named Angela and, after a quick rundown of the rules and wringing a sheepish promise from Reinhardt, she began to narrate the story.

It’s the typical tale of a group of adventurers seeking out fame and glory in faraway lands. They last left off in an enchanted forest (not unlike the wooded area of the park) where a handful of party members turned against each other due to some sort of magical pollen.

To be honest the story was lackluster at best, but that didn’t really matter - since what clearly appealed to these people was the excuse to freely throw themselves at one another with reckless abandon.

“Reinhardt draws first blood, but trades it for fifteen hit points deducted,” Angela yelled over what sounded like a delighted holler. “You have a shield for a reason,” she added under her breath as she recorded it on her clipboard.

Angela might have her misgivings, but to Hanzo’s trained eye it was evident in the way they brawled - that they were intimately familiar with fighting and its lifestyle. Hm. Another piece of the puzzle falling into place.

“So, Jesse says you’re an archer? I do hope that encounter didn’t start with some sort of injury.”

Hanzo felt Angela’s ever-kind gaze turn towards him. “I’m hoping you can tell me why he always comes back with some sort of bruise from the shooting range he frequents.”

It’s tinged with light humor, but a long-suffering crinkle near her smile betrayed her concern. He cleared his throat. “I did not meet him at the shooting range, though he has told me a lot about it,” he clarified, wary of how he should interact with his boyfriend’s friends. “Conversation at the barbershop simply turned to our mutual interest in weaponry.”

Angela seemed to be one of the more sensible (okay, saner) members of the group. Her character Mercy was a healer: a fitting role for someone who works her day job at the local hospital.

“These people are some of my worst-behaved patients. It almost makes me wish I could go back to doing my research in Switzerland. Ah, it is only for one day out of the month, after all. No reason to complain.” Her fond smile belied her complaints. “I am not a creative individual so I’m perfectly fine being relegated to GM. I spend most of these sessions with Torbjorn and his family anyway.”

The way her gaze was fixed on Pharah, grinning victoriously as she hurled her axe across the battlefield straight into Ana’s head, made Hanzo believe that she was looking forward to more than simply sharing recipes for apple pie with Ingrid.

“Round 1 complete! Make your replacements.”

“Mighty fine shootin’, don’t you agree?”

Jesse was hardly out of breath, jogging up to the sidelines. Hanzo took a moment to examine all the details on his costume: a suitable amount of wear-and-tear sold the travelling hunter appearance, and visually the crossbow held a convincing power to its weight. The smell of faux leather and sweat invaded his nostrils. He inhaled greedily.

Jesse prowled closer. He had noticed Hanzo’s rapt attention and was grinning dangerously. “Think you can do better than me?”

The challenge in his words set Hanzo’s blood on fire in more ways than one. “You would be surprised how fast I can overtake you. I would suggest that it is you who try and keep up.”

Hanzo turned to tend to his bow before it could escalate and the desire behind his eyes could turn into something... physical. He had just met his boyfriend’s friends today, after all.

A small crowd had begun to gather to watch the action. Word had spread of a showdown of gladiatorial proportions taking place nearby, and excited murmurs wafted through the tiny park. Those who had “fallen” in the first round got up to chat with the spectators, adding to the hype: Reinhardt was gesturing wildly to a rapt audience, and Torbjorn was collecting money in his empty picnic basket.

“We don’t charge, if that’s what you’re thinking,” explained Angela sheepishly. “But they’d never take no for an answer.”

Round Two was about to start, the players shuffling into formation. Hanzo darted for the backline, being extra careful so that his traditional archer's garb did not snag on the branches as he climbed halfway up a large pine.

Though Jesse was on the opposing team Hanzo could feel a hungry gaze spotting him out from the thick cover of leaves. A flash of heat spidered across his back and he shivered; whatever doubts he had about leaving his chest half-exposed vanished quickly.

He noted Angela's - Mercy's - positioning, making a mental note to peel for her if she were under attack, though he stayed an extra few paces behind. She had said something about how “the healing is not as rewarding as the hurting” - apparently her great-uncle from Germany had not been a very good influence on her. The scuffing on her staff and the dark sparkle in her eye told him it was used for more than just healing.

When the fighting resumed, Hanzo was ready. Direct hit after direct hit he racked up points, spirits lifting extra high when he saw the others grow increasingly frustrated by blunted arrowheads coming from all sides.

For a few minutes he was left uncontested. Then, he saw an opening.

With Reinhardt, Mercy, and Tracer pressing onward, the opposing team had no choice but to fall back. Jesse, too, was pushed back, on the defensive.

And unable to retreat any further, surrounded by thick brush. Hanzo saw his chance. He dove after his prey, flitting from tree branch to tree branch. Focused, fixated, like a hawk, muscles responding to instant commands.

He's never felt so fluid in such a long time, so seamless in his instinct. It exhilarates him. Any exhaustion is whisked away as he closes in on top of Jesse, something carnal lighting up his insides.

Before he can analyze it he pulled out an arrow, nocked it, and let it loose. It sunk into the dirt a few inches away from Jesse's boot - on purpose, of course.

The barber - the hunter - yelped, jumping back. Hanzo leapt down. Rolled, pulled free the arrow.

A desire to be flashy kept him from administering the finishing blow. He kept his momentum, blew past a flabbergasted Jesse. Ran halfway up the trunk of a tree.

Then he twisted in mid-air, vision tunneling to a single focal point - and aimed a fully charged shot at the hunter's ass.

“Holy-!”

Jesse crumpled, legs giving. His back went stiff, knees hitting the ground.

Oh no. “Jesse?” Hanzo ran up to his side, all playfulness gone. Blunted arrowtips or not, that must've hurt.

“I… I'm… Fine.” Hanzo did not believe that for one second, since Jesse's face was scrunched up like he had eaten ten lemons. “Hooooo, Lord Almighty, that's gonna leave a bruise...”

The tension slowly uncoiled from his stomach; the string of complaints told him it was merely a blow to his dignity. “There, there,” Hanzo soothed, unable to resist needling him. “It’s not that bad…”

“Easy for you to say- eep!”

Jesse shrieked right into Hanzo’s ear - who probably deserved that because his hands had a mind of their own and had gotten around to patting his sore butt without his permission.

“I’m sorry,” but Hanzo didn’t sound very sorry as choked giggles continued to slip out despite his best efforts. The faint cry of someone yelling “critical hit” only soured Jesse’s expression.

That glare was going to be there for the rest of the day, but ah, Hanzo only felt a tiny bit bad. Today had already exceeded his expectations, better than what he had hoped. Jesse at least earned himself a little peck on the cheek.

“Cease fire! I believe the Archer has broken the spell!”

Spell? What spell?

“Mercy,” came Tracer’s chipper voice, “do you think the pollen’s magic is wearing off?”

Oh right. The campaign was still going on. Hanzo raised an eyebrow at his downed partner. “Is that so? Are you back to your senses, gunslinger?”

Jesse wordlessly stretched a hand up.

And yelped for the third time that day when he was lifted off the ground, scooped up in Hanzo's arms.

______

“...Thank you very much! You are all too kind!”

Stormy applause filled the little park as the LARP group took a bow. Always a crowd favorite, Reinhardt soaked up the attention and gave a passionate speech, thanking them for their time and attention.

The sun's rays had begun to grow weak as evening started to take root. Fireflies and mosquitos alike were starting to come out in full force as the park emptied out. It was a group effort that hastened a speedy clean up.

“Tch, Jack, we missed a hell of a show,” Mr. Reyes complained as Jesse excitedly brought him up to speed. “We should've at least dropped off some food for the kids.”

The LARP had taken a surprising amount of strength from Hanzo; every loadful of supplies back to Mr. Reyes’ truck sapped the energy from his limbs. Gravity itself seemed to grow heavier, as if tempting him to plop down on soft grass and never get back up.

Jack smiled knowingly. “You talking about Torb's grandkids?”

“Nah, I’m talking about these big babies here.” Jesse quickly ducked away as Mr. Reyes went to pinch his cheek, grumbling good-naturedly.

Any other time Hanzo would have drank up the flustered glances Jesse was sending his way, as was customary when being beset by embarrassing family members in front of your significant other. But currently it was all Hanzo could do to stand upright and not fall flat on his face.

He angled a cough down into his elbow, closing his eyes against its force, a prop piece dropping to the grass. When he opened them again his vision swam.

“Han? Hanzo? Hey, you okay?” The voice came closer, sounding worried. It sounded like Jesse.

He coughed again, then shook his head in an attempt to refocus at the blurred figures approaching him. “No, no, I'm… fine.”

A cool hand touched his forehead and cheeks. “No fever, but you're running a little hot. Did you drink enough water?”

“I… don't remember,” Hanzo lamely answered.

“That's what I thought. When you're sweating buckets in this heat you have to keep your fluids up.”

That was Mr. Reyes speaking. He sounded like a stem parent. “You probably haven't had anything to eat, either,” he muttered, displeased.

Hanzo glowered, hating the feeling that he was most likely right in that regard as well. But that didn't mean he was incompetent. “I make sure to keep myself physically fit. I simply require some rest to recover from today's activities.”

Mr. Reyes simply nodded. “Sounds like a smart plan. Hop in.”

Hanzo closed the truck door, confused, until what he was offering clicked. “Thank you, but I can easily take the bus back to my apartment. It is not far at all.”

“Oh, no,” Mr. Reyes laughed, “you’re coming with us. And Jesse here is going to be a thoughtful boyfriend and whip you up something homemade to get your energy back. And I am not taking no for an answer.”

He got into the driver’s seat, rolling down the windows. Hanzo turned to Jesse for backup.

“Can’t weasel outta this one, partner,” he said with a helpless shrug. But there was a subdued glee to his movements - one that kept Hanzo from voicing additional protests, lest it dim the pure happiness that was dancing in his eyes.

Utterly defeated, Hanzo stepped into the backseat, and from there the rest of the evening was a blur: being herded onto the dinner table, snippets of conversation swarming around, pulling him in. Jack's famous pumpkin and goat cheese soup clearing whatever bug that had clogged his airways. “It'll fix you up, guaranteed,” Jack had said with a wink.

The spot of warmth bubbled in his stomach all night, and he had a feeling it wasn’t just from the soup. Hanzo failed to hide snorts of laughter as Mr. Reyes showed him video after video of Jesse's failed attempts of a harmonica solo during a short-lived stint in Fareeha's band, barreling over the barber’s indignant squawks and frantic swipes at his phone across the dining table.

It wasn't until a stray glance at the clock that he remembered how late it had gotten. Ten PM came and went and then some; it was almost midnight.

Shit. “I’m sorry, but I have to go,” he whispered to Jesse, halfway getting out of his chair, trying to be inconspicuous.

“Hey. Where you running off to?”

Unexpectedly it’s Sombra who notices his attempted departure - who then deems it perfectly acceptable to ask him as loud as she possibly can.

Hanzo spied her secret grin, silently cursing her underhand tactics before Mr. Reyes stood, nonchalantly picking up a few plates. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking of taking the bus back to your place. At this hour? It’s far too dangerous. Hell, I’m not letting you.”

“Stay here,” Jack joined in. “We got plenty of room.”

At this point Hanzo has to come to the conclusion that the whole Reyes-Morrison household is conspiring against him as Jesse stops him mid-protest, merely turning a set of pleading eyes his way.

Goddamn it.

Hanzo crossed his arms, contemplating under the scrutiny of four pairs of eyes. The worst part was that he wants to stay. He so desperately wants to stick around; going back to his apartment would feel like a slap to the face after all the goodness he’s been shown. Most of all he didn’t want the peace that’s been ever-present within Jesse to disappear, either: not when the memories of comforting a burdened Jesse in his apartment reminded him of the strain that’s on his shoulders, of the weight of the barbershop’s dilemma on his mind. But he wouldn’t want to impose...

Running a hand over the scruff of his undercut made him remember, though, of the struggles he went through, of the difficult choices he’s made: why should he hold back? Exactly what does he have to be fearful of?

Slowly, a toothy smile stretched across his face, and a judgment he didn’t even knew he held against himself began to lift off his shoulders. He straightened his spine, making up his mind. “Got an extra toothbrush?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A LARP? In my barber AU? It's more likely than you think
> 
> Again, thanks for everyone who gave the most wonderful and encouraging comments on the last chapter of Part 1. I kept all you guys in mind when I finally built up the courage to go, and when a little voice in my head kept telling my salon lady 'shorter shorter shorter'. Best decision of my life!

**Author's Note:**

> Hanzo “a pizza costs like, what, $45?” rich bitch Shimada


End file.
